A Fairy Tale Ending
by HarleyMischeif
Summary: A selection of well known fairy tales which I have taken the liberty of rewriting. Lot's of man love. Lot's of Johnlock. Rated M for later chapters. I do not own blah blah blah bt then you already knew that.


Sherlock's hand's were raw, too many hours on his knees scrubbing the kitchen floor within an inch of his life and still it wasn't good enough. It was his punishment for over sleeping that morning; sleeping and dreaming of a life so far from this one that he truly hadn't wanted to wake. His brother Mycroft, tyrannical workaholic as he was had taken the night off to go to the annual policeman's ball they held in some government building or another. Sherlock had said he didn't want to go; that he didn't'; care if he had to stay at home and work until his hands bled. A night off wouldn't go a miss though or at least a night off doing something interesting. Wishes were foolish things, unrealistic, desperate and above all total nonsense. It was then that for the first time in his life Sherlock Holmes made a wish. 'Take me away from this. give me someone brave and interesting. Some one who I can follow and will follow me in return.' He sighed, looking down at his torn clothes and filthy skin. "Give me a soldier" he muttered.

If Sherlock had had to listen to anyone else describe what had happened next he would have scoffed in their face at the utter ridiculousness of it. Sirens sounding through the wind with the blue lights like signals from God bursting through the darkness and rudely through the closed windows. Then there was a sharp rapping coming from the door. Sherlock jumped to his feet and close to leaving his goddamn skin behind as he did. He opened the door slowly, revealing a tall, silver haired man with a gentle smile and an indescribable twinkle in his eye.

"You really are a mess aren't you?" The man stated, still smiling. Sherlock was not smiling, Sherlock was frowning. He looked the man up and down in an attempt to get the measure of him. Small things were easy to deduce but not now; not with something that seemed so - other worldly.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Sherlock demanding, keeping his frame firmly between the man's body and his only way into the house. Within the time it took Sherlock to blink the man was gone, he whirled around and found the grey haired stranger observing the state of the wet kitchen floor.

"How did you - I don't - " Sherlock stuttered, reminding himself that whatever had just happened there was definitely not possible.

"Name's Lestrade. your own personal fairy detective inspector and we've got a ball to get you to."

"I'm not - " Sherlock closed his eyes. "I'm not going to any ball, can't you see how busy i am? Or are you as idiotic as you are..." he waved his hands vaguely. "Strange".

Lestrade snorted. "They warned me about you. Said you'd be difficult. Look princess if I have to tie you down to get you out of those godforsaken clothes then I will."

Sherlock looked as if he were about to make things difficult but gave his submission with a small slouch of the shoulders and a resignated sigh. After all this was the most exciting thing to happen to him in years.

"Fine." He muttered. Lestrade shot him a blinding smile and jumped up.

"Best get started or you're going to be more than fashionably late, there's already a cab outside, couldn't find anything nicer at such short notice but that shouldn't matter. As for the clothes..." Lestrade wrinkled his nose in distaste then proceeded to tap the top of the table with his fingers; the pattern repeating a weird sequence which Sherlock was suprisingly unfamiliar with.

"What are you - " Sherlock stuttered then words were just not even an option. Clothes had materialised. Materialised. Which of course was impossible but - there they were. Right in front of him. Curiosity was enough of a motivator to have the poor man reaching out, hands gripping the wool of a long black coat and the smooth silk of a deep plum shirt.

Lestrade pointedly turned around. "Come on then princess get yourself dressed I do have other places to be tonight you know."

Sherlock didn't really know what to do other than obey, his usual snarky comments and stubborn demeanour had well and truly been shocked out of him. He undressed silently, leaving the filthy clothes to lay on the now clean floor; picking up the other items one by one. The expensive material felt good on his skin and even he could see how the purple complimented him; the way it hugged his body, tucked neatly into the fitted slacks that had replaced the torn jeans. Finally he pulled on the coat, perhaps some would call in over long but with a quick twist of the wrist to flick the collar up he could see in the reflection of the tiled floor that it suited him.

Lestrade turned and nodded. "That is so much better you wouldn't believe."

Sherlock snorted. "I don't believe any of this. In fact I'm quite positive I must be high and hallucinating in a gutter somewhere but - when in Rome." He shrugged.

The fair detective gave him one confused look. "You are a strange one aren't you?" Lestrade shook his head. "Never mind and just - put this on will you?"He pulled a blue patterned scarf from the depths of one pocket, though instead of handing it to Sherlock the detective stepped forward and knotted it himself.

"You need to be back here before midnight, understand? Otherwise you'll end up looking like a right prat when your clothes disappear and you're stood stark bollock naked in front of a room full of people.

Sherlock frowned. "As gifted as I am I understand the concept of a curfew." he muttered.

"Well go on then." Lestrade waved his hand again."Piss off."

Sherlock paused for a moment, eyes flicking to the door. he made his mind up and turned back. The detective was gone. With his decision made and a final quick look around the kitchen he strode to the front door and pushed it open where a black cab waited for him in the drive; just as the detective had said it would be.

He slipped into the cab, closing the door and the second he was shut the driver was pulling away; driving him down dark winding streets he couldn't; remember ever existing. The drive was completely dull and uneventful so he was infinitely glad when they finally came to a stop. Assuming the cab had already been paid for and well if not it was his drug induce stupor so hell to it, he stepped out and was greeted by the over decadent; hideously over decorated Metropolitan police headquarters. Not for the first time that evening Sherlock felt slightly unsure of himself, at least until his eyes roamed the crowd of people entering the building and rested upon a familiar face. Lestrade... Sherlock shook his head. this just got more insane by the minute.

After a short while of contemplation Sherlock walked through the main doors. All in all it was as awful as he had expected. Music, alcohol and a room full of over dress, over paid morons who didn't know their left from their right. If fairy detective inspectors were suppose to make wishes come true his had done a bloody awful job.

"Alright princess?" The familiar voice was uncomfortably close to his ear. Sherlock spun round.

"What am I doing here?" He hissed, before noticing the policeman wasn't alone. The man accompanying him was shorter than both of them, with blonde well cut hair; sporting the dress uniform of a man recently out of the army. Sherlock almost choked on air. 'Give me a soldier.'.

"Sherlock." Lestrade spoke with a knowing smile. "This is Captain John Watson, recently invalid home from Afghanistan."

The shorter man was holding out a hand, no doubt expecting Sherlock to take hold of it. After a while he finally managed to get his brain working again and shook the Captain's hand, forcing a smile onto his face as he did.

"Sherlock Holmes." He muttered, voice unusually quiet because really this was...insane. It was time to revert to his defences. "While I'm sure you're full of interesting sob stories about friends you lost to the enemy i really do need to be going so..." Sherlock winced as lestrade grabbed his arm none so gently, dragging him away and hissing dark;ly in his ear.

"Now you listen to me. i went to a lot of effort for you so don't even think about messing it up."

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but was stopped by a kind voice and a small tap on the shoulder.

"I don't really like talking about army stuff, I mean it's not like I get to run after the bad guys anymore but Lestrade was telling me you're a pretty good dancer and in all honesty i was rather hoping we could do that as opposed to a long conversation about mines and the bloodied bodies of my friends.."

Sherlock didn't know what to say. No he didn't really want to dance and of course a nice 'thank you very much' for telling the only decent man in the room that he was a good dancer because as great as he may look juts then he really did have two feet.

"Look I can't -" Sherlock cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable by the look of disappointment on the smaller man's face."It's not that i don't - I'm just not very good at dancing that's all."

From the corner of his eye Sherlock saw lestrade roll his eyes and walk off. To his surprise John smiled, leaning in a whispering softly words that were only meant for Sherlock.

"Thank God. I mean he's a nice enough bloke but dancing really isn't my cup of tea." Sherlock smiled back, both of them visibly relaxing. "And if you don't want to talk about me you could always talk about yourself."

Sherlock chuckled. "I find myself doing that far to often, believe me my life is far less interesting than you'd like you believe."

John shrugged. "Then we can both be completely bored together." he suggested.

Sherlock nodded. "That is the best thing I've heard for days." Months, years...or so he finished in his head.

"Shall we?" John inclined his head to one of the empty tables; people now beginning to take their seats for the evenings meal. Place cards were dotted all around and they hunted together for their own.

"Fancy that." John laughed, picking up two beside one another; both his own and one with Sherlock's name on it. Sherlock searched the room for Lestrade and on finding him was greeted by one rather mischievous wink. John really didn't stand a chance.

They sat together in quiet companionship, enjoy small conversation and in fact some rather interesting stories about the army. Sherlock found himself enraptured, totally taken over by every last detail of the man seated next to him. As far as he was concern everyone else in the room need not have been there. It was all John and the crows feet at his eyes when he smiled, the way he stuck his tongue out when he was trying to remember, the way he could actually see Sherlock how no one else could.

"Brilliant!" John exclaimed for what must have been the thousandth time, though Sherlock still wasn't bored of it. John had picked up on Sherlock's ability for deductions and had then spent the whole night determined to hear Sherlock pull apart ever poor bastard in the room. Not that Sherlock minded. He honestly had never laughed so much in his life - unfortunately they were still giggling when the chief of police got up to make his speech about lost officers. Awkward.

Sherlock shook his head as he dragged John from the room by the hand, looks of disgust and disapproval following them out of the main doors to the steps now blissfully abandoned by stragglers.

"We were supposed to be being respectful!" John exclaimed though the effect of disgust was lost by the snort of laughter that followed.

Sherock was still laughing as he struggled to catch his breath, noting several things happening at once. The appearance of a familiar black cab as well as the DI standing, watching in the doorway. It hit Sherlock like a freight train. This was supposed to end like a fairy tale wasn't it? Kiss the prince and live happily ever after. He had never wanted a happily ever after. Slowly, fearfully, Sherlock stepped away. His eyes were wide and still fixed on john who slowly seemed to understand that something had gone wrong.

"Sherlock, what is it?" He asked, looking around but of course seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

"I can't." He answered quietly. "I can't give you this ever after nonsense." The volume of his voice rose.

"Sherlock. I don't know what the hell - " John started but Sherlock interrupted him.

"I can't. I'm sorry." And with that he was running, disappearing into the darkness and back to what he knew was his rightful place.

Three months. It had been three months since Sherlock had laid eyes on John Watson which all in all had amounted to three months of misery, longing and being completely distracted. His brother had noticed the change, being as observant and intelligent as Sherlock it was inevitable though he never new the real reason; would never believe it if Sherlock tried to explain. occasionally he wondered if it could have all just been a dream or a hallucination, not that it mattered. Dream or not it was driving him crazy. He had started making foolish mistakes in the work he was forced to do by his brother daily. Each one resulting in a new punishment. Sherlock had hoped Mycroft would get bored but Sherlock had always been his favourite toy.

And so it was just another day, the same as any other that there was a knock on the door and his brother went to answer it. Ordering Sherlock to the kitchen to make tea for their guests...his guests more like because they certainly weren't here to see him. He went about it, boiling water, steeping the leaves, making sure the tray was clean and presentable; the whole while wondering how things might have been just then if he had taken that leap three months ago.

With a small sigh he collected up the tea tray and stepped into the living room where his brothers and guests awaited refreshment. God he hated it, hated all of them, everything - His thoughts were interrupted by a voice...by that voice.

"Sherlock?"

Oh. John Watson, dressed in a casual if not questionable woollen jumper was sitting opposite his brother. Sherlock blinked repeatedly and as if in a trance stepped forward and placed the tray down on the table.

"Sherlock..." John repeated, Sherlock could see the worry crossing his features.

Mycroft was viewing them both with a look of surprised disinterest. "had i known you were acquainted with my brother I would have invited him to join us."

Sherlock snorted. Liar. "We met once nothing note worthy i assure you."

From the corner of his eye he saw John's face fall, something his brother no doubt will have noticed also.

"Quite." John mumbled, taking a cup of tea as Mycroft offered it.

"I apologise, my brother has problems with etiquette."

"So I can see." John mumbled, though Sherlock noted the small smile that twitched the corner of his lips as John shot him a small private look. Clever, loyal John Watson must know, must have been warned about Mycroft's little games. So his fairy detective inspector hadn't given up on him just yet.

the air was cut by the loud persistent ringing of his brother's phone and as it turned out a certain DI Lestrade had something very urgent to discuss with him. Sherlock had to work hard then to keep his smile hidden.

"I can take care of our visitor until you return." He assured his brother, who, with one withering look and a quick look of apology in john's direction waltzed out of the room with the blasted mobile still attached to his ear.

So here they were, alone at last and in seconds John was on his feet; moving closer. So close Sherlock could hardly breath.

"Why did you leave? Christ why did you leave and not even tell me your last name?" John asked, anger eclipsed by the strength of relief at finally being back in his presence.

"It was a very...odd day for me." Sherlock admitted. "I was - confused, frightened. When things don't make sense i tend to panic."

To his surprise John chuckled.

"You really are an oddity."

Sherlock nodded his head in agreement.

"Yes. I suppose I - " In an instant he was cut off, the last steps had been taken and warm chapped lips were pressed squarely to his own. It only lasted seconds but was more than enough to leave him breathless.

"There. Now at least if you kick me out I did that because it's been driving me crazy for three damn months."

"I'm not going to kick you out." Sherlock assured him, looking down to try and hide the blush that painted his usually pale cheeks. "Though when my brother returns he might do. He detests anything that makes me happy."

"I know." John replied quickly. "I was warned that if I did find you again that your brother wouldn't take it lightly. But we could leave...couldn't we?"

Sherlock stilled. Leave. Leave here, leave his brother and this life of monotony and torture and run away with this near stranger. A stranger who had captured his attentions in seconds. Had been his only thought for three months. Who he couldn't bare to think of being apart from again. Sherlock swallowed thickly and gave his agreement with one quick nod. John laughed and it was just as infectious as it had been before.

"I've got my eye on a nice little place in Central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." John took his hand. "Is there anything you can't leave behind?"

Sherlock looked around the house, closing his eyes as he worked through every bad memory he wanted to discard there.

"Nothing." He muttered, opening his eyes and giving John's hand a quick squeeze.

"Nothing at all."

Fin.


End file.
